Exercising Caution: Tales from the Training Room
by Marvelous Winchester
Summary: Five times Tony Stark is injured during training (it happens when you train with literal super humans and gods) and one time he returns the favor.
1. Chapter 1

Tony Stark was many things—genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist—and more recently, Avenger. With that mantle came many responsibilities. How was one supposed to measure up to a hyper-enhanced Super Soldier, the actual god of thunder, and a man with some pretty destructive anger issues?

Practice, practice, practice.

That had been Tony's mantra when he created the Training Room. More recently, he had privately been referring to it as the Trauma Room, but that was between himself and JARVIS.

As the elevator made its silent descent, Tony leaned against the wall and absently picked at his fingernails. He checked his watch just before the elevator doors whooshed open, and cringed a little inwardly.

"Thirty minutes, Stark," Steve Roger's voice was laced with irritation. "You are thirty minutes late for our training session."

"Sorry about that, Cap," Tony drawled, "I have other responsibilities."

"Is that you call nursing a hangover these days?"

Tony snorted, noting the twinge in his head and making sure not to show any outward signs of discomfort.

"You know I run a company, right?" Tony felt his own irritation begin to rise. "Play fighting is great and all, but it doesn't have to be on such a tight schedule. I mean, where else do you have to be?"

Natasha spoke up from the corner, "Tony, we all know that Pepper does her fair share as well as your fair share when it comes to SI."

Tony tried to look affronted, but ended up shrugging. "Okay, so maybe you're right about that. But still—"

Steve cut him off by throwing a wooden training staff at his face.

"Hey!" Tony shouted, fumbling the staff but managing to hold onto it. "You could've hit me in the face—one of my many valuable assets."

Steve rolled his eyes as Tony smirked suggestively and gestured for the billionaire to join him on the mat. Tony signed and took a moment to survey the rest of the Training Room. Thor was lifting weights like they were nothing but air, Bruce was stretching near the window on a yoga mat, Clint was chugging water by a treadmill, and Steve and Natasha were waiting for Tony on the nearest mat.

Tony had gone all out when he built the Training Room.

Long, reinforced glass windows created a wall that overlooked the beauty of bustling Manhattan. Tony had designed and strength-tested the glass himself, so he was confident that it could handle anything—not Thor or Hulk-sized—that the Avengers could throw at it. He hadn't conducted any field test with the god of thunder or the quiet scientist, so he couldn't vouch for its performance against the heavy hitters.

When Tony had named it the Training Room, he was using the word "room" loosely. Four basketball courts could fit in the space, and there would still be room for some comfortable seating around the edges. Sleek, brushed-steel panels walled in the rest of the room, which had a direct entrance from the elevator. When sunlight wasn't streaming in from the glass windows, bright overhead lights did their best to emulate natural light. Along one edge of the room, there was a narrow horizontal window that showed off the firing range.

Clint, Natasha, and Cap spent a lot of time in there. Maybe a little more than was healthy, in Tony's opinion. But if their skilled marksmanship kept some baddie from blowing his head off during a mission, Tony was all for their dangerous obsession.

Exercise equipment filled up half of the room, ranging from ellipticals, treadmills, and weights to some truly high-tech equipment specifically designed—by Tony, of course—to fit the individual needs of each Avenger. On the other side of the room, soft mats and a lined boxing ring were available for sparring. There were even some severely beaten-up punching bags in the corner—courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue.

Steve tapped Tony's staff with his own, just hard enough to get the smaller man's attention. "You know, Stark," he said in his captain voice, "You only get better when you put in the work."

Tony smirked and adjusted his grip. "Is that how you got those muscles, Cap? Hard work?"

Steve's ears turned red, and Tony knew that he was succeeding at pushing his buttons.

"That's right," Tony taunted, "You get some super serum that juices you up, but we have to work for our skills. All high and mighty, looking down on us from your tower of pecs and glutes."

 _He knows what I'm trying to do_ , Tony thought. _And it's going to work anyways._

"Let's just go through the sequences, Stark," Steve said, a slight bite in his tone.

"Let's just go through the sequences, Rogers," Tony mocked.

Tony could practically feel Natasha roll her eyes from her vantage point.

 _Alright, I've got this,_ Tony thought _. Dodge, parry, block, block, dodge—Ow!_

Tony shook his right hand sucked on his fingers as he glared at Steve.

"Your footwork is sloppy and you're projecting every movement," Steve said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"See, now you're just being an ass," Tony said. He launched himself forward and lost himself in the rhythm of the satisfying thunks and clacks as the staffs made contact.

They went on for twenty minutes, grunting as fingers received glancing blows and breathing hard.

 _Well,_ Tony thought _, I'm breathing hard. That ridiculously perfect science experiment has barely broken a sweat. Time to take things up a notch._

In some part of his rational mind, Tony knew that further pissing off an enhanced Super Soldier was not the best idea.

"Just so you know," Tony panted, "You're cheating."

Steve was surprised enough by the statement that he staggered in his next motion and was rewarded with a sharp crack over his fingers. Steve winced as he spun the staff in his opposite hand.

"I have never cheated in my life, Stark," Steve said, his tone holding a hint of warning.

"Well you say that," Tony wheedled, "but you're going up against me, a regular—albeit shockingly handsome—guy while you've got fourteen tons of muscle and all kinds of enhancements."

Steve launched himself at Tony with a grunt. Tony spun his staff to protect himself from Steve's increasingly quick and powerful attacks.

 _Ha! It's working. I just need to get a little more under his skin and he'll make a mistake._

"Cheater, cheater," Tony taunted, sidestepping a downward swing.

 _Dodge, parry, attack, dodge, shit, shit_

As Steve put more force behind each blow, Tony realized how out of his depth he was. When he fought hand-to-hand it was from within one of his suits. Tony wasn't wearing one of his suits, but Steve brought his advantage into the ring. Tony hated to admit it, but Steve was only getting stronger and more focused under Tony's practiced taunting.

Natasha's voice broke through the heated sparring. "I think it might be time you gentlemen take a break."

Tony felt sweat trickling down his back and could already taste the cold water. He lowered his guard right as Steve's training staff connected with the side of his head.

 _Crack._

Pain seared in his right temple and the lights went out.

.

Tony groaned as he slowly came back to his surroundings. He squinted through his eyelashes, trying to see what was going on while not assaulting his brain with light. A concerned Bruce was leaning over him, touching his face and head, while a guilty-looking Steve fidgeted a few steps away.

"Ouch," Tony whispered, careful not to speak too loudly.

"Oh, thank God!" Steve said, lowering his voice when Tony winced. "I am so sorry, Tony," he went on in a hushed tone. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I let myself get out of hand."

Steve kept his eyes on the mat as he made his apology, and Tony could tell that it was eating him up. Cap prided himself in protecting his team, and would never intentionally hurt any of them.

"Naw, don't worry about it, Cap," Tony said, voice still a little raspy. "I was trying to antagonize you to get an edge. It almost worked, too."

"No it didn't," Steve countered automatically.

Tony pouted as Bruce helped him into a sitting position. "You knocked me out, you could at least give me this."

Steve fought a smile as he slowly helped Tony stand.

Bruce's eyes roamed over the knot on Tony's temple and then studied his pupils. "You look like you're going to be just fine," he said to Tony. "Maybe next time you just go with the sparring and try not to turn it into a death match."

Tony grunted as his own fingers found the swelling on his head, and he grinned at Bruce through the discomfort. "You know that's not my style."

Bruce gestured at Cap and turned to give Tony his stern I-am-your-doctor-and-you-will-do-as-I-say look. "Steve is going to take you upstairs and get you some ice for your head. You're going to rest—" He held up a hand to ward off Tony's protests. "For a few hours at _least_. I will be up to check on you."

Steve guided Tony toward the elevator and hovered uncomfortably close.

"You can take a few steps back, Cap," Tony laughed, trying to relieve some of the guilt he could see on Steve's face. "I've had worse testing my gadgets in the lab."

"That doesn't make it right," Steve said earnestly. "We're supposed to protect our team members, and I didn't do a very good job of that today."

Steve absently smoothed the back of his hair.

 _He does that when he's upset with himself,_ Tony realized.

"Look," Tony said, tone surprisingly gentle, "you make me an ice pack and watch some mindless TV with me and we're even. I'll be up and ready to spar tomorrow, though, so you'd better watch your back."

Steve smiled and nodded, understanding that this was forgiveness. "Sounds like a plan, Iron Man."


	2. Yoga With Bruce

Despite Tony's big talk, Bruce chased him out of the training room three times the next day.

"Concussions aren't something to take lightly," he had scolded.

Tony had groused at him, obviously nursing a headache, and had gone off, presumably, to think up other ways to endanger his health.

The day after that, Tony was practically bouncing off the walls with nervous energy. He had consumed an inhuman amount of coffee, played around in his workshop for a few hours and then had wandered upstairs to drive each member of the team insane.

When he loudly sat himself across from Bruce at the table, Bruce put down his newspaper and snatched the steaming cup of coffee from the billionaire loose grip. Tony's eyes widened in irritation for just an instant, then narrowed to reflect a playful frustration.

"I don't take your stuff," he whined.

Bruce raised an eyebrow and folded up his paper. "You are constantly stealing my chemicals in the lab and you poke me from time to time just to test me. I think I'm entitled to steal your coffee on the rare occasion."

Tony glared at him as he made his way to the sink and poured of the mug.

"See," Tony muttered, "now you've wasted a perfectly good cup of coffee and I will be forced to bring my wrath down upon you."

Thor perked up from across the room, pausing in cleaning Mjölnir to ask in a booming voice, "Who will we be smiting on this fine day, Man of Iron?"

Bruce forced himself to keep a straight face as Tony turned to face the God of Thunder.

"Call off the dogs, Point Break," Tony grumbled, "Bruce just decided to pour out my perfectly good coffee."

Thor was barely fazed by the nickname, but his eyes narrowed as he looked around the room. "Where are these dogs you speak of?"

Tony barked out a laugh and lazily pointed around the room with his right hand. "Figure of speech, Thunderation, no actual dogs are present."

Thor continued to look a little wary, but went back to polishing the hammer that was basically an immovable paper weight to the rest of the team.

The corners of Tony's mouth tightened in contained mirth, and the corners of his eye crinkled as he looked at Bruce. If he didn't leave the room soon, Bruce could tell that the over-caffeinated genius was going to dissolve into giggles. That would be a good way to thoroughly confuse Thor—again—and Bruce wasn't in the mood to be caught in the middle of one of those exasperating conversations.

"Come on, Tony," He said. "We're going to train."

The moment Tony heard these words, he perked up. While training with the Hulk would be rather difficult and dangerous, training with Bruce was really fun. Because Bruce was careful to keep his heart rate and emotions under control, his workouts were relaxing and simple.

"Shorts and tennis shoes like normal for weights?" Tony asked, already beginning to put a circuit together in his head.

It would feel good to work off some of the pent-up energy and left-over frustration from his sparring with Cap. Steve had been feeling guilty about knocking Tony out, though he hadn't mentioned it again since his (many) apologies while preparing an ice pack. Tony could tell that Steve was still trying to say that he was sorry by doing little favors around the Tower. Someone had prepared extra bacon that morning and left the plate out for others, someone had sketched a pretty badass drawing of Iron Man beating up some baddies, and someone had folded Tony's rain jacket—previously discarded and left in a heap somewhere—and placed it on his bed. Tony may not have seen Steve do any of these things, but he's certain it's the Super Soldier's passive way of continuing to apologize. Trust Steve to mother Tony into forgiveness—not that Tony was holding a grudge.

"Er, yeah," Bruce answered, staring at something on his phone screen. "And I wear compression shorts, too."

"Ew, TMI," Tony laughed, heading off to his suite. "I'll meet you down there in ten minutes."

Tony rode down to the Training Room in the elevator, dressed in tennis shoes, a white Iron Man t-shirt, and athletic shorts. He had taken Bruce's comment about compression shorts to be a suggestion, and he was now distractedly tugging at them, convinced that they weren't adjusted quite right.

"Alright, Mean Green," Tony sang out, "I'm ready for some weights. I seriously need to work off some of this energy, I mean—"

Tony cut off abruptly as he caught sight of Bruce meditating cross-legged on a black yoga mat near the window. The other man's eyes were closed, his face relatively peaceful as the natural light drew shadows behind him.

"Aw man, come on, we're not doing yoga, right?" Tony stomped over to his friend, disturbing the peaceful atmosphere.

Bruce opened one eye and smiled at Tony. "If I'm right—and I generally am—you're probably still feeling a little bit of a headache from Steve braining you. This will be gentle enough for you to recover and work off a little of that caffeine-induced haze I imagine you're in."

Tony glared at him and settled onto the mat next to Bruce after peeling off his shoes and socks. He grunted and moaned his way to a cross-legged position that looked something like Bruce's pose. Without a glance at him, Bruce stood up fluidly and said, "We'll start standing at the top of the mat."

Tony growled a few obscenities as he levered himself into standing. Evidently standing all focused was called mountain pose, which Tony decided he really liked. When Bruce cued them to a forward fold, Tony hung helplessly with his fingers wiggling full inches from his toes.

Tony could hear the amusement in Bruce's voice as the talked his friend through sun salutations. Tony was beginning to enjoy the focus that this took, despite being hampered by his flexibility. When Tony failed to reach the full expression of the pose that Bruce was in, the scientist would suggest modifications to each pose.

As they ramped up the speed, Tony could feel sweat trickling down his lower back.

 _This isn't too bad,_ he thought _. And it's not like anyone else is here but Bruce, so Clint won't make fun of me for not being able to reach my toes._

As they progressed into a different vinyasa, Tony grunted after he pushed himself into downward facing dog. "Is this how you control the Other Guy?"

Bruce peeked at Tony from underneath his arm, looking to see if this was a serious question. Tony supposed he must have been convinced by the tone and expression, because Bruce sighed.

"Walk your feet up to your hands, Tony. There you go." Bruce took a step to Tony's mat and placed his hand on his friend's upper back, applying a gentle pressure. "Now stay in the forward fold for a minute—nice, look how much closer you are to reaching your toes."

Tony gave a smile from his upside-down position, fully aware that he probably looked red in the face with his hair floating around his head.

Tony waited patiently—which was a little out of character—to see if Bruce would say anything else.

"It's not really about control, so much," Bruce said in a low voice. "This helps me be more accepting. I can't get away from this reality—I've tried that—so I might as well be happier living with it."

Tony drew a blank on words, rising slowly to standing. He reached up to put a hand on Bruce's shoulder, hesitated awkwardly, and ended up patting his back.

Tony cringed inwardly. He had never been very good at the whole "comforting a friend" thing, but hopefully Bruce got the gist of it.

"Well," Tony said, ready to change the mood. "As much as I've enjoyed this little stretching session, I think it's time to show me something even vaguely challenging."

Bruce laughed and stepped to the top of his mat. "Alright, Tony," he said. "Just remember that you asked for it."

Forty-five minutes later, both men were breathing hard and sweating through their shirts. Tony refused to admit the little tremors that went through the muscles in his arms, keeping his eyes on Bruce. If the timid scientist could do it, so could Tony.

"Alright," Bruce finally said, "the rest will be stretching before savasana—basically nap-time, Tony, so you should love that part."

Tony tried not to let the relief show in his face. "I could do this all day," he said, his slightly breathless voice giving him away.

Bruce guided them into a yoga squat—malasana—and dropped easily into the pose, palms pressed together and pressing into his sternum.

Tony followed confidently—he could do it if Bruce could do it—and let out a little gasp as a white-hot pain shot through the inside of his right leg. He toppled over onto his back, eyes squeezed shut and teeth gritted together as he waited for the pain to pass. Eventually it fell from a bright pulsing pain to a dull throbbing.

Bruce was standing over him worriedly, gently probing the groin muscle. Tony swatted his hand away in embarrassment, grabbing his thigh above the knee and pulling it toward him.

"I'm fine," he grunted, "I just pulled something."

"Your groin muscle," Bruce clarified, pushing down the smile that kept rising to his lips.

" _Something_ ," Tony glowered at him.

"Wow, Tony," Bruce tried to keep the laughter out of his voice when he realized that his friend was okay. "Pepper is so lucky to have you. You being so spry for your age, you must really know how to show her a good time."

"Hardy har har," Tony growled, looking like _he_ might turn into a big green rage monster.

"Let's go upstairs," Bruce laughed, "We can get you some ice. And it looks like you'll be resting that for another few days."

Tony sighed and rolled his eyes. "One of these days I'm going to get you back for injuring me. You and Cap both. You'll see."

Bruce couldn't stop laughing as he helped the limping other man to the elevator.

 _This must be good for his rage problem,_ Tony thought sourly.

Too bad the comedy was painful and embarrassing, but it couldn't be all bad if it got his regularly stoic friend to dissolve into laughter.

Bruce swiped some ice from the kitchen, setting Tony up on the couch with a movie and an awkwardly position ice pack. Bruce plopped himself down next the billionaire, happily instructing JARVIS to play _A New Hope_.

"So, what should we tell the others?" He asked, rolling his head against the couch to shoot a questioning look at Tony. Tony tried to ignore the teasing laughter still shining in Bruce's eyes.

"There's no way out of this one," Tony said, gazing straight up to the ceiling to play up to drama. "We tell Pepper the truth—everyone else, we tell that Pepper and I got a little enthusiastic in bed."

He winked at Bruce and rested his head against the couch.

 _Damn Trauma Room_ , Tony thought with a rueful smile. One of these days he would have his vengeance.


	3. Training with Clint

Tony sat glumly at the kitchen counter, holding the bag of ice to his left shoulder. His left arm was immobilized by a sling, so he couldn't go tinker with his cars or work on the suit. This left him staring at the wall with condensation running down his good hand from the rapidly melting ice bag.

 _Throb, throb, throb._

He felt like he was in one of those movies where the action stops in the middle of some horrific scene with the main character getting completely fucked up and the voiceover says, "I bet you're wondering how I got here. This mess all started when…"

Tony snorted to himself and slid off the stool with a groan. He was in athletic shorts and a sleeveless hoodie—provided by Clint—and his bare feet hardly made a noise as he padded over to the couch.

Once he settled gently onto the couch, he looked down his nose at the loose threads of the ripped-off-hoodie that were tickling his left shoulder. Tony picked at them absently with his free hand, brain floating on a comfortable haze of pain medication.

 _Does that damned archer ever wear sleeves?_ Tony thought, giggling aloud. _It wouldn't kill him to leave some of his clothing unmolested._

Though the meds were doing a fairly good job of numbing the pain of his recently dislocated and then re-located shoulder, Tony could still feel it. Even if he kept perfectly still, the joint throbbed and twinged with each breath. He felt his eyelids begin to drift closed and he jerked slightly to stay awake.

"Shit," Tony gasped, breathless after the quick movement and ensuing sharp pain. He had chased the others away with a bad attitude and the obvious desire to be left alone, so he didn't attempt to bite down on the pain. He breathed in and out through his nose, eyes squeezed shut, trying to get control of his body. After an indefinite amount of time, Tony fluttered his right hand randomly through the air, eyes still closed.

"JARVIS, how long until I can take another dose?"

His AI responded in a voice that was suspiciously compassionate, especially considering that that shouldn't be possible.

"Another two hours, ten minutes, and forty-two seconds, sir."

Tony grunted and opened his eyes to see the room dimming around him. Natural light from the large windows was blocked out as the windows switched to their shade mode. Artificial lights dimmed and then went out in the kitchen and living area.

Tony glared at the ceiling with no real anger, "I don't need a nap, I'm fine."

"Of course, sir." JARVIS had encountered this situation many times before, and no calculations had to be made to respond. "I shall leave the room in 'naptime mode' until you are ready to take your next dose. I will make sure someone wakes you to take your pain medication on time."

Tony mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Thanks," before he fell into a peaceful sleep.

This whole thing had begun earlier that morning.

.

Tony and Steve rode down in the elevator, companionable silence between them. They weren't the most talkative pair on the team, but they had figured out a balance. There was some respect, some teasing, and a little friendly competition.

 _Okay_ , Tony thought, _there was competition._

"So how are you feeling today, Grandpa?" Tony asked.

Steve raised an eyebrow at him, looking like he was trying to decide if he should give Tony the satisfaction of a response.

"You know you just recovered from pulling your groin muscle, right? I don't know if you should be calling me old."

"That's not an old person thing," Tony grouched. "We regular humans have muscles that get pulled sometimes. Besides, sexy-time injuries are always things to be proud of."

Steve bit down on his lower lip, obviously trying to hold in a smile. "Right, of course."

Tony glanced at him suspiciously and then rolled his eyes. "Alright, who told you?"

The elevator doors opened to the wide expanse of the training room and Steve strode out of the elevator, flashing a smile at Clint.

"Was it Bruce?" Tony practically whined. "Clint? Natasha? So help me, I will revoke everyone's pantry rights if I don't get to the bottom of this."

Steve decided not to dignify the threat-laced tantrum with a response, and walked past Clint with a clap on the shoulder. Once Steve had passed the agent, Clint made eye contact with Tony and mouthed, "Bruce."

Tony narrowed his eyes and made a mental note to hide the scientist's tea stash.

Clint leaned down to reach for his toes, working through some gentle stretches before he began his warmup. Tony walked over to join him, placing his water bottle near the large floor mat.

Just as Tony reached down for his toes, Clint yelled, "Oh God, Tony, are you okay?"

Tony snapped up and glared at him, biting down on a reply. In the corner, Steve's bark of laughter turned into coughing as he choked on his gulp of water. Now he was harshly hacking to clear his lungs. It was hard to tell if the tears were from laughter or the choking.

"You alright over there, Spangles? I'm not sure if we can give you the Heimlich through all those abs." Tony grumbled, strapping on some wrist braces for hand-to-hand training. It didn't matter that things weren't _supposed_ to turn violent in training, Tony knew that he was bound to get hurt if he didn't take some precautions. After all, his hands were important. He needed them to tinker and invent.

Steve coughed in response, eyes still watering. Tony didn't see any immediate threat there, so he turned a baleful eye on Clint as he continued stretching.

After a few minutes of stretching and warming up in silence, Clint and Tony made their way to the mat. They took it slow at first, working through combinations at half-speed to perfect the motions. As they warmed up, they sped up the patterns. Clint barked some instructions to Tony, making sure the smaller man knew what he needed to correct.

During a short water break, Clint clapped Tony on the shoulder.

"You ready to try some non-choreographed fighting? We can see how your instinctive responses are coming along."

Tony swallowed his mouthful of water with a nod and a wink. "I think I can take you."

"Oh please," Clint said.

Things were going great—and by great, Tony absolutely meant that he wasn't unconscious, until Clint managed to get him into a headlock.

Tony grunted and tried to force his way out of the hold. This one was modified, and nothing Tony attempted was working. He was running out of options, so he aimed a stomping kick to the inside of Clint's upper thigh—nothing high enough to do any damage, but high enough to warrant a flinch.

As it turned out, Clint didn't flinch so much as fall, his leg slipping out from under him with a yelp.

"Fuck!" yelled Clint, in obvious pain.

Tony barely heard it, because, as Tony dropped out of his grasp, Clint landed on Tony's side—hard. The impact knocked the breath out of Tony, and his left shoulder dislocated with a sickening _thunk_.

Tony's vision whited out for a moment, and he would have screamed if he had any breath. The pain washed over him and his stomach lurched. Clint scrambled off of him, heavily favoring his left leg, and rolled Tony onto his back.

"Hurts—don't feel—" Tony gasped out, trying to fight back the urge to vomit.

"Are you going to hurl?" Clint asked, never one for tact.

Tony swallowed reflexively, nodding. Clint gently rolled him onto his good side just in time for Tony to gag up his meager breakfast.

 _At least I didn't opt for a huge meal this morning,_ he thought.

By that time, Steve had rushed over with a bottle of water and a towel. He poured some water on the towel and wiped Tony's mouth with quick, gentle motions before offering him the bottle.

"Help me sit up," Tony said. He was panting with the pain, but his stomach was no longer rebelling. He took the water from Steve in a shaking hand and swished it around in his mouth.

 _Ew, pukey taste. Gross._

"I texted Bruce," Steve said, his tone laced with concern. "At least, I think I did. I don't quite have the hang of these new-fangled phones."

Tony choked out a laugh and winced as the motion jarred his shoulder. "If your text didn't go through, I'm sure JARVIS notified him the moment I went down."

"Of course, sir," the AI intoned. "Dr. Banner is on his way."

The elevator doors slid open and Bruce bustled through, his medical kit clutched in his right hand and his cell phone in his left.

"Steve, I got your message," he said. "What happened? God, Tony, again? I need to put you in a plastic bubble."

Bruce pushed the medical kit into the Super Soldier's arms, not looking to see if he had it. His focus was on one thing now—his patient.

"It looks like the shoulder is just dislocated, Doc," Clint drawled. "He's making a huge scene, but I imagine he'll be right as rain soon."

"Dislocations are nothing to laugh at," Bruce muttered, kneeling beside Tony and gently manipulating the joint. Tony went white as the movement brought new waves of pain, but he focused on a point on the wall and tried to keep his face blank.

Bruce helped Tony into a more upright seated position, maneuvering Clint to support his back.

"Okay Tony," Bruce mumbled as he worked, "I'm going to get your arm into the starting position, so no crazy pain yet."

Tony winced as Bruce arranged his upper arm in line with his torso, gently pressed against his ribs. His elbow was bent at a 90-degree angle, and Bruce held Tony's left hand with both of his.

"Geez your hands are cold," Tony chattered nervously. "I'm glad you're only touching my arm."

Bruce shot him a look that made it clear that he knew what Tony was up to.

"Tony, I know this isn't pleasant, but the pain is short-lived," Bruce said.

He slowly moved Tony's forearm away from his body.

 _Just pay attention,_ Tony thought as his heart rate galloped in expectation of the pain. _Learn from this so you can help somebody else out—it's less noble that I'm learning as a distraction, but whatever—SHIT_

Tony's rambling thoughts were cut short by a grinding sensation and another burst of eye-watering pain. Tony yelled as the joint sunk back into place, panting as the pain began to subside.

"Oh my God, you suck," Tony breathed to Bruce. "But also I love you, and thank you."

"Would you like us to give you some privacy?" Clint asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Let's get him upstairs," Bruce said quietly. "We can get his arm in a sling and apply some ice. Plus, pain killers."

"Yes! Meds!" Tony cheered wearily.

He sat up a little straighter as he remembered, "Clint, is your leg okay?"

The archer looked faintly embarrassed, but gave them a straight answer. "You kicked me in an old knife wound. Old enough to be healed over, young enough to still ache like a mother."

"A knife that far up your inner thigh?" Tony asked, mock horror plastered all over his face. "Don't tell me you've been running with a bad crowd."

Steve chucked as Clint looked Tony straight in the eye and said, "They were aiming higher."

"Fair enough," Tony said, giving an exaggerated shudder. He turned to Bruce, holding his injured arm protectively across his chest. "Thanks for patching me up, you know, again."

"Anytime, Tony." Bruce said with a smile. "But let's try not to make a habit of it."


	4. Theories with Thor

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers. The characters—and all references to the movies—belong to Marvel. I'm just borrowing them for a fun story.

.

Tony was beginning to get antsy. This wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but he had hoped for some peace and quiet when he decided to go for a run. He had spent the morning in his lab, but his thoughts had started getting jumpy and his hands shook slightly as he worked on a new project, so he had decided to burn off the caffeine in his third-least favorite form of cardio activity.

About halfway through his run, Tony became aware that Thor had joined him in the Training Room. The god of thunder was quieter than usual—generally, he would have greeted Tony at incredibly inappropriate volumes for any place other than an open field.

 _The man literally has no inside voice,_ Tony thought _. His caps lock button is always broken._

Then he snickered to himself. _Haha "Cap" lock._

As it was, Thor didn't even spare Tony a glance. His focus was single-mindedly on his hammer. Tony slowed the treadmill to a walk, shooting furtive glances over his shoulder. It concerned him that Thor was unaware of his presence—and creepy stealth efforts—since the Asgardian was generally hyper aware of his surroundings. The large man slowly spun Mjolnir's grip in his right hand, so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice Tony shut down the treadmill and walk over.

"What's up, Point Break?"

Thor went from intent on his weapon to intent on killing the threat in less time than it took Tony to breathe a sharp intake of air.

"Whoa, easy there, Thunder Clap," Tony placated. "I would prefer not to have a Mjolnir sized imprint on my face today."

Thor looked affronted now that he had identified the non-threat. He frowned and his brow furrowed. "No Asgardian would knowingly harm an ally."

"Right. Of course." Tony moved to sit on one of the many benches that were placed along the walls of the room. He busied himself with retying the laces on his left sneaker.

"Mjolnir and I are not communicating today," Thor said, breaking the silence. "Ordinarily our union is flawless—I am unsure how to correct this change."

Tony's head shot up and found Thor staring pensively at the hammer again.

 _Well, obviously, I'm going to have to make fun of him for having a relationship with the hammer in the future,_ Tony thought. _You know, when he's not upset and could possibly throw me through the nearest wall._

Tony's head immediately swam with thoughts and calculations, pondering the extent to which Mjolnir could be sentient—and could possess _moods_.

He cleared his throat to get the other man's attention. "Has this happened before?" He gestured at the hammer. "Have you ever experienced this strange connection with Mjolnir?"

Thor rumbled deep in his throat. Whether it was a sound of thought or of warning, Tony couldn't tell, so he squirmed as he waited for an answer.

"This has not happened in my living memory," Thor spoke quietly, sounding almost depressed at the prospect of his hammer being pissed at him.

Tony was stuck between finding the whole thing very amusing, being wary that Thor might express his distress by flinging the weapon around or calling lightning, and wanting to help his friend. Despite the façade Tony put on about having to share his tower with "a bunch of fucking weirdos," he had found that his teammates had become his friends—this towering Norse god of thunder included.

For the first time since Thor appeared in the Training Room, Tony took in his appearance in full. His blond hair was tied back messily with a leather strap. Though Thor usually strode around the tower in full armor—or nothing, but that was an entirely different problem—today he wore regular Midgardian clothes. He was practically busting out of an unmarked grey t-shirt, and he wore dark jeans with no shoes. Faint dark circles had appeared under his eyes, and a line of worry seemed to be perpetually etched into his forehead.

Thor was truly worried.

"Listen, big guy," Tony said, standing and hesitantly reaching out to touch Thor's shoulder. At the last second, the billionaire pulled back, his hand falling to his side, unsure how the other man would take physical contact in his current state of mind. He sat back down. "Maybe I could run some tests, see if any of the readings are different than before."

Thor shot him a pointed look.

"Alright, we can wait to run some tests," Tony muttered. He ran through some quick stretches to cool down from his run. "Tell me about the _relationship_ that you and Mjolnir share."

The slight dig went right over Thor's head, leaving Tony suppressing a smirk.

"We are generally of…one mind," Thor said, struggling for words as he turned the grip in his hands.

"Though we do not communicate in words," he continued, "there is a sense that passes between us. When I call Mjolnir to my hand, something calls back."

He flipped the hammer lightly, end over grip, and studied the patterns in the metal. "Today that call is fainter. It is as if a voice calls through sheets of rain."

Tony steepled his fingers, rested his elbows on his knees, and placed his mouth up against his hands in thought. His mind was moving so quickly that he couldn't be still. With a jerky movement, he jumped to his feet and began pacing.

"JARVIS, call up everything we know about Mjolnir. Previous scans, legends, hearsay, whatever we have."

"Absolutely, sir," came the AI's smooth voice. Instantaneously, holo-projections appeared around Tony. They detailed everything that was known about the Asgardian hammer, and some information on the makeup of the Asgardian atmosphere.

 _No extraterrestrial stone unturned_ , Tony mused.

As he sifted through the information, Thor walked around in quiet awe. He went from projection to projection, running his fingers through the manipulatable light and staring at them when they came back clean and undamaged. Tony looked up from his work to grin at the god of thunder's back. It never ceased to amaze him that beings from other planets could be impressed by his work. Tony knew he was fantastic, after all, but this couldn't be good for his ego. Pepper had pointed out on numerous occasions that it was already healthier than it needed to be.

 _Pepper._

Tony froze as his thoughts raced.

"Thor, when was the last time you used your hammer? Like _actually_ used it?"

Thor glanced at him in confusion. "I carry Mjolnir with me each and every day. We are inseparable."

"Of course, absolutely," Tony gestured the projections away impatiently. "But when was the last time you and Mjolnir—you know—vanquished a foe together."

Tony had to fight the urge to emphasize that last bit with air quotes.

A look of understanding crossed the Asgardian's face and he raised his eyebrows in surprise. "The last occasion for such battle was many weeks ago. There has been an admirable period of peace on Midgard for some time now."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Don't expect that to last too much longer."

"Here's what I'm thinking," Tony continued enthusiastically. "In any relationship, some stress starts to form if you don't do the things you enjoy together. Perhaps your hammer—is it a she? I have no idea what pronoun to use—is feeling neglected."

Thor looked a little dubious. "If that is the case, how can I restore the communication between myself and Mjolnir?"

Tony was going from enthusiastic to downright excited. "I'll suit up and we can spar. Obviously, you don't need to actually vanquish me," he felt the need to say this, for some reason. "But maybe this will help smooth things over between you two."

Thor's face lit up in a smile, and he stood a little taller. "I accept," he said. "I will try anything to restore the relationship between us."

Ten minutes later, Tony stood on the roof of the tower in his full armor. The suit gleamed in the afternoon sun, hot-rod red and gold in all its glory. Knowing the somewhat—um—destructive battle tendencies of the Norse god, Tony had chosen to spar outside. He may have the funds to replace everything in the Training Room, but what a headache.

Thor dove at Tony, driving his fists toward the faceplate. Even though Tony knew Thor was pulling his punches, and a fist to the face would only hurt like a son of a bitch, his heartrate still shot up.

 _Impending threat, impending threat, impending threat_.

JARVIS spoke a few calming words, special programming that Tony had included to help with the PTSD that plagued him since Afghanistan. Tony calmed down as Thor playfully continued to throw weak shots. He felt the surge of pride and relief that the trigger had not become a full-out panic attack.

 _Some days are better than others_ , he thought with an internal shrug.

The sparring escalated quickly, giving Tony some excellent practice at hand-to-hand from within the suit. Thor was smiling now, something fierce and animalistic that made Tony realize how much the god of thunder loved the battle.

Thor angled each blow from Mjolnir, making sure that Tony had the time to dodge or parry Thor's wrist. Despite that, the hammer was making frequent appearances in the sparring.

Thor shot Tony a victorious grin as Tony breathlessly dodged another blow. "Your plan has worked, the communication between us is restored," Thor bellowed.

He thrust his hammer to the sky victoriously, bringing a lightning strike down on the roof.

"Whoa, Thor, buddy," Tony said, firing up the repuslors and hovering a few feet above the roof.

Thor ended the strike with a sheepish grin. He strode over and wrapped Tony in a giant bear hug as he landed on the roof. Tony had one moment to process that Thor's fingers were still dancing with blue electricity before he was flat on his back, gasping for air.

 _Shit, ouch—motherfucker. Why does this stuff always happen to_ me _?_

A dull, aching pain filled in for the sharp pain that had consumed him the moment Thor touched him. Speaking of which, Tony opened bleary eyes and found the god of thunder wildly staring at him from inches away.

"Hey buddy," Tony croaked. "I think you zapped me with some residual energy."

His head felt a little fuzzy and his extremities tingled, but he seemed to be okay. He knew for a fact—not because he was electrocuted more often than the average person—that he would have some irritation around the reactor chamber in his chest. Other than that, Tony had had worse encounters with electricity in the lab.

"Help me up," Tony moaned, taking Thor's offered hand. An irrational part of his brain flinched when they made contact, but nothing horrible happened.

"I apologize," Thor said, his blue gaze drilling into Tony, "I never meant to harm you. I am grateful that you are well."

"Of course I am," Tony grumbled, only staggering a little bit. "I'm fucking fantastic. Now let's get inside and get cleaned up."

"Oh, and," Tony thought to add, a wicked smile on his face, "I'm glad you're back on her good side."

When Thor looked confused, Tony pointed at Mjolnir. Thor threw his head back in a belly laugh and stroked the grip of his hammer affectionately.

 _So much to mock, so little time_ —, Tony thought

"As am I," Thor rumbled happily. "As am I."


	5. Training with Tasha

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or the world of the Avengers. They are owned by Marvel, so all credit for these awesome heroes goes to them.

There will be one more chapter of this story!

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Practice with Natasha was different. She was human, but trained to a level that made her incredibly dangerous. Tony was simultaneously challenged and petrified when they sparred. A dead mask slid over her features when she fell into a fighting rhythm, and Tony always thought there was a _slight_ chance that she would rip out his throat on sheer reflex. That being said, if he kept an engaging conversation going with her during the sparring, she never seemed to go to the dark, scary place.

This morning, Natasha wore black spandex shorts and a white tank top over a neon yellow sports bra. She didn't usually go for bright colors, so Tony would wager that she had reached the bottom of her drawer. It was probably laundry day. She padded quietly over the soft mat, barefoot and light on her feet. Tony had the honor of walking in just in time to see her slam Steve face-first onto the mat with a particularly graceful—and deadly—move. The good-natured Super Soldier had slapped his palm on the mat twice in defeat, smiling ruefully and rubbing a red spot on his face. If it wasn't for the serum, Cap would've had a shiner blossoming. As it was, he had moved over to the treadmill and was happily jogging at speeds that Tony would only attempt if he was being chased by a hungry bear.

"Hey, Stark," Natasha said. "You up for some practice, or did you just come down here to gawk?"

Tony narrowed his eyes and started to strap on his wrist braces. "Oh I'm sorry that I got a little distracted by Mister I-Can-Run-Faster-Than-Most-Cars over there."

"I can hear you, Stark," Steve called, obviously laughing.

 _Damn Super Soldier hearing,_ Tony thought. _The bastard wasn't even breathing hard._

"Get back to your run, cupcake," Tony shouted back. He didn't even have to look to know that Steve was blushing. It was too easy to tease him with his delicate, old-fashioned sensibilities.

Tony bared his teeth at Natasha in a ferocious grin. "Hit me with your best shot, Widow."

He backpedaled immediately when he saw her left eyebrow raise. "By which I mean, let's play-fight. Please don't kill me."

Natasha's lips twitched up in a small smile. She obviously knew how to intimidate this group of men, but she was also growing fond of them.

Tony stripped off his sneakers, joining Natasha in bare feet.

"So, Tahsa," he asked in a deliberately irritating voice, "How has your morning been?"

She rolled her eyes at his behavior, smirking. "You're so predictable, Stark. Other than kicking Cap's ass, it's been pretty boring. Come on, I'll try not to hurt you."

She threw her fist at Tony's face, which ended up being a feint, and kicked him in the stomach. Her blows were light as she gave him time to warm up, but the breath still whooshed from his lungs.

Tony coughed harshly and worked to replenish his air.

"Can you just," he winced and gestured vaguely to his chest, "be careful—of…you know."

Realization dawned briefly on her features and she nodded brusquely. "Of course."

The reactor casing held the engineering marvel that kept him alive, but it also shared space with delicate skin and tissue. While his burns from Thor's enthusiastic hug had faded, he had been bruised around the casing because of sparring before. The aching pain brought back memories, and with the memories came nightmares. Natasha may not have had all of the information, but Tony could read on her face that she understood the point. He felt a wash of gratefulness for his teammates. Sometimes living with a group of similarly damaged people with dark, dangerous pasts really paid off.

Tony dove at her, hoping to catch her off guard. He barely had time to blink when she grabbed his wrist, rolled against his back, and pulled his arm up and behind him. When his breath caught, she let go and backed up a few steps.

"Okay, so how would I avoid something embarrassing like that happening in a fight?"

She smiled at him, pleased that he was willing to ask for instruction. "It's pretty simple," she said, moving forward to coach him on a new technique.

It went on like that for thirty-five minutes. Natasha would show him up, Tony would realize how many ways she could kill him, and she would teach him how to extract himself from certain holds.

Most of his team probably thought that Tony was training to be better in a fight—and that was true, to an extent. But when he was clad in his Iron Man armor, blasting through enemies and soaring high above the battle, he was using his strengths. Being an engineering genius was a lot like being a world-class chef—no matter how good you were or how inspired, you still had to throw the pieces together and create the finished product. The Iron Man suit was Tony's Croquembouche, his Crème Brûlée, his Coq au Vin. Perhaps others would master the technology eventually, and some truly intelligent scientists understood his work, but Tony was a master— _the_ master. He could create anything, given the time.

It's possible that he had a God complex.

When Tony was in his suit, he stood as an equal amongst this talented band of misfits. When he took on Natasha, Clint, Thor, or Steve without the suit, he felt naked. The frustration bubbled up because he had left his advantage in the lab while they brought theirs to the mat. Maybe it was conceited of him, but he wanted them to know how that felt.

Focused on his thoughts, Tony snapped out of his reverie when his quick strike at Natasha's face hit nothing but air. She leaned back matrix style, placed her hands on the mat, kicked herself over, and dropped down to sweep his legs out from under him.

 _How the effin' hell did she just bend like that?_

Tony landed with a grunt, both hands out in front of him to break the fall. He cursed loudly when his left hand took most of his weight, a sharp pain shooting up his arm from his hand.

"Ouch, ouch ouch, owie, owie, owie," Tony whined, caught between wanting to shake his hand and never wanting to move it again. A sickening pain shot up his arm from the place his pinkie joined his hand. It was already starting to swell, and Tony was beginning to suspect that there was some kind of fracture, at the very least.

Natasha rolled her eyes and reached out for his injured hand, roughly turning it palm-up. Tony yelped in surprise and pain, going up on his toes to keep the pain from traveling any farther up his arm.

"Don't be a baby, Stark," She said. "Let me look at it."

"You said you wouldn't hurt me," Tony grouched, blinking against automatic tears as she moved his hand.

"I said that I would _try_ not to hurt you, which is a different thing." She said, focused on his finger. "You really need to get better at remembering when you are and aren't covered in metal. You break really easily when you're not in the suit."

 _That's what keeps me up at night._

"Look, Tony," she said, using his first name as a sign of subtle apology. "My guess is that you may have a fracture. I'm not noticing any sign of displacement, but an x-ray will show us whether you need anything other than a brace for a few weeks."

"A brace?" Tony crossed his uninjured arm across his chest angrily, realizing that he probably wasn't achieving the intimidating stance he had hoped for. "I use this hand for lots of thing—holding drinks, inventing mind-blowing technological wonders—"

She cut him off with a snort. "The world will keep turning for a few weeks while you let that recover. Besides, you have your other hand."

Tony let out a deep, bothered sigh. "JARVIS, will you please scan my injury?"

He held out his arm for a few seconds—more than enough time for the AI to process a full scan—and glanced at Natasha's impressed expression.

"I get hurt practically every time I'm down here," He said. "I went ahead and installed the tech that would allow JARVIS to be my doctor."

"Sir," the AI said, "Ms. Romanoff was correct in her assessment. There is a hairline fracture with no displacement of the bone. Would you like me to have the bots construct a brace using your measurements?"

"Sure," Tony sighed. He cradled his injured hand close to his chest and padded over to the small freezer he had ordered for the Training Room. Inside, dozens of ice bags were waiting for such an occasion.

He pulled one out, roughly shoving it on his hand. He regretted this instantly, closing his eyes for a moment as the pain swelled and then ebbed.

 _Stop making things worse just because you're frustrated,_ he thought. _So what, you're hurt again. That happens all the time. You've got stuff to do in the lab, anyways._

"I appreciate the practice, Nat," Tony said, turning back to his sparring partner. She was sipping water from a reusable bottle and set it down to re-tie her hair into a pony tail. She flipped her hair over, hair tie on her left wrist, and started to gather her hair in quick, practiced motions.

"No problem, Stark," she said, her voice a little muffled from her upside-down position. "You go rest that up like a good boy, and maybe I'll bring you some fresh coffee later."

Tony turned and headed to the elevator, clutching the ice to his throbbing finger. His house-mates may not be good for his health, but they were good for his heart.


	6. Tony and his Tech

**This is the sixth and final chapter of this story! Please let me know if you have any specific story requests. I love writing the Avengers, and will be happy to try out some ideas. Thank you for reading all the way through this fic. You rock!**

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Today was the day.

Tony's eyes snapped open and he rolled out of bed like a kid on Christmas morning.

 _First, we set the bait._

He ran a hand through his sleep-mussed hair and shuffled out into the shared kitchen in his flannel pants and ratty old black t-shirt. Pepper found it endlessly amusing that he had practically bottomless resources and still chose to sleep in what she described as "homeless man attire."

Tony strode into the kitchen toward the coffee pot with single-minded intent. Coffee first, then the rest of the day could fall into place. When he was content with a steaming mug of blessed caffeine, he made his way to the kitchen table. Steam rose from four other mugs of morning caffeine, Steve and Natasha both took their coffee black, Clint's was filled with absurd amounts of sugar and creamer, and Bruce had a tea bag label draped over the side of his mug. Tony shuddered at the thought that it might be _herbal_.

Steve had folded over the morning paper to read a story about—Tony looked over his shoulder and followed his line of sight—some new park development. Huge, patriotic Captain America was an artist at heart. Tony was sure that Steve was already mentally planning to go sketch in the new park.

Tony dropped into an empty seat with a long, drawn-out sigh. Natasha glanced up at him without moving her head. That was only a touch creepy.

"What do you want, Stark?" She said.

"Want?" Tony asked innocently. "All I want is to sit here in the company of friends and drink my coffee."

He managed to look affronted that she would even ask such a question as he raised the mug to his lips.

Steve shook the newspaper to unfold it and glanced at Tony suspiciously.

"That's far too wholesome for you, Stark," he said. "You usually have something up your sleeve."

Clint paled and looked down at his drink. "Did you poison me again?"

Tony furrowed his brows to keep from grinning. "Your definition of poison is very different from mine. All it did was put you to sleep so I could attach fairy wings to your suit. Stop being ridiculous."

Clint pushed his drink away, eying Tony closely. Steve protested as Tony leaned across the table to shove Clint's drink back toward him.

"Relax, Hawkass," Tony drawled, "It's safe for consumption."

Clint continued to glare at him from over the rim of his mug.

Bruce sighed and mentally prepared himself to enter the conversation. "Really Tony, what's going on? You're giving off ridiculous amounts of pent-up energy right now."

"And you're usually not even awake yet," Steve added, sipping his coffee.

Tony reached out and tapped Steve's mug, sloshing coffee into the Super Soldier's face. "You know caffeine probably does nothing for you, right? With your increased metabolism and enhancements, you burn right thought it."

Steve's brows pulled together in irritation as he wiped hot coffee from his face, but his expression quickly morphed to offended.

"Leave his coffee alone," Natasha said, rolling her lips over her teeth to stifle a laugh. "We all know it's a habit for him. Besides, most grandpas drink coffee with their morning paper."

Steve picked up his newspaper and flung it at her face half-heartedly. Natasha lazily ducked the projectile without a glance.

Bruce gave a long-suffering sigh and rose to pick up the newspaper.

"How's about we go spar?" Tony blurted out.

Clint laughed and sipped his coffee. "Are you looking to get your ass kicked again?"

"You dislocated my shoulder, you asshole." Tony growled. "Maybe you could show a little remorse."

Clint smiled and shrugged.

"There you go," Tony muttered, leering at the archer. "Keep drinking the _safe_ coffee."

Clint looked a little queasy and pushed it away again. Tony smiled inwardly. That coffee was perfectly ordinary, but Clint didn't need to know that.

"I'm up for some training," Steve said, standing to take his dishes to the sink. "I already checked off my run, so I'm warmed up."

Natasha stretched like a cat and rose smoothly. "I'll come too. There are some new sequences I want to practice."

Bruce gathered his tea, a look of resignation on his face. "You know I can't spar with you, but I should probably be there for when Tony gets hurt."

"Hey," Tony protested, "not _when_."

"Sorry, _if._ "

Clint grinned and poured what was left of his coffee down the drain. "Let's get to it."

 _Second, we lure them in._

They reconvened in the training room nearly forty-five minutes later.

Everyone but Bruce was dressed in workout clothes, and the scientist stood along the wall in jeans and a rumpled button-down shirt. He held a fresh, steaming cup of peppermint tea. Tony had caught a whiff of it earlier.

Tony, Steve, Natasha, and Clint all warmed up separately, stretching and readying themselves.

In the corner, Tony jogged easily on a treadmill and silently went through his secret weapons. The good thing about being a genius was that failure literally led to endless hours dwelling on how to be better. Being a billionaire meant that Tony could generally bring his thoughts to life.

On his left and right wrists, he wore small metal bracelets. They fit snuggly against his wrists, nearly invisible under the long-sleeve black shirt he wore. The shirt itself was part of the arsenal. Woven into the reinforced fabric, a force-field hovered just above his skin. The field was designed to absorb energy and transfer that energy to the bracelets. The bracelets powered the field that would surround his hand when he swung. Basically, he would be protected from any hits to his torso and arms, and could use the pent-up energy to come back swinging. He innocently swung his left fist through the air, grinning when he saw the faint light of the field flare to life.

He wore a black rubber ring on his right hand. It looked fairly innocent at first—second, and third—glance, but it was packed full of a specially-designed neurotoxin. It wouldn't do any actual harm, but it would slow the reflexes considerably for four to five minutes. Tony had tested it on himself.

The small device adhered to his left palm was nearly invisible because of its coloring. Tony had built it to match his skin tone exactly, imitating the lines and irregularities of his palm. It was a taser built specifically for the god of thunder. Thor hadn't been at breakfast, but Tony knew he was nearby. He has asked JARVIS to invite the Asgardian if he showed up in time.

He slowed the treadmill to a walk, then stopped the belt and hopped off. He strode over to the training area and pulled one leg back to stretch out his quads.

 _Third, we pounce._

When Tony first dove into a sequence with Steve, he left his gadgets off. He bobbed and dodged, returning strikes when he could. As things started to speed up, Tony tapped his right wrist against his hip and felt the bracelets power up. Maybe Steve noticed the slight flare in the arc reactor as it powered the tech, but Tony doubted it.

The Super Soldier's eyes grew wide as Tony started to hit harder. To compensate, Steve's blows began to land harder, giving Tony even more reserve to slam into Steve. As Tony landed a particularly hard blow to Steve's ribcage, the bigger man groaned and staggered back, coughing reflexively to draw in air.

Natasha pulled Steve back to the bench, handing him some ice. "Rest up for a minute, Super Soldier," she said. "I'll tap in."

She watched Tony warily, knowing that something was going on.

"How did you do that, Stark?" she asked, eyes never straying from his.

"Now, now, Natasha," Tony teased, "you're the one who's always saying I have something up my sleeve. Nothing a trained assassin can't handle, I'm sure."

Goaded into engaging, Natasha flung herself at Tony with a little growl.

She swept his ankles out from under him with little trouble. Tony landed with a grunt, pleased to see that the shirt had absorbed some of the fall. He grabbed at her wrists she lashed out. He only maintained his grip for a moment, but it was long enough for the ring to do its job. He took a beating as he waited for the neurotoxin to kick in, but soon enough Natasha's moves were slow and easy to dodge.

He saw the confusion in her eyes, so he winked at her and sidestepped another blow.

"What the hell, Stark?" Clint said, anger evident in his tone. His water bottle dangled loosely in his left hand, all focus directed at the pair on the mat.

He dropped the bottle and rushed to Natasha, helping her to the bench to sit down. "Nat, are you okay?"

He spoke tenderly, truly concerned about her. She smiled at him, her movements slow and clumsy. "I'm fine," she said. "Go kick his ass."

The neurotoxin had just been introduced to Clint's system when Thor strode into the training room.

"Good morning, friends," he practically bellowed. "The kind servant informed me that my presence was requested."

"Hey Thor," Tony said. "You're up next, big guy."

With that, Tony shoved Clint toward the bench, watching him take a seat between Natasha and Steve. Steve was still sitting a little crooked, but he was on the way to healing. Natasha was finally beginning to move normally, and Clint was staring down at his own hands as if they had betrayed him.

"You have already bested the Captain, the Widow, and the Hawk?" Thor asked, looking at Tony in astonishment.

"That's right, Point Break," Tony grinned, making a "come on" gesture to the Asgardian. "Show me what you've got."

Thor twirled Mjolnir once in his hand before placing the hammer on the ground and joining Tony on the mat. Thor may appear air-headed occasionally, but he knew that clobbering Tony with Mjolnir would be bad for the billionaire's health.

As Thor moved in to throw a fist, Tony gripped the god's forearm with his left hand and let the taser fly. It had taken some modifications to ensure that the energy didn't shock both parties, but Tony was confident with his tech. The shock laid the Asgardian out on his back, eyes wide in shock.

Thor blinked up at the ceiling before breaking into a roaring laugh. Bruce joined him from his place leaning against the wall. He had put his tea down so that he could clap. Tony took a bow. Thor took the hand that Tony offered him, clapping him on the back hard enough to make Tony grunt.

 _Despite the damn field_ , he thought.

With rueful smiles, Natasha, Clint, and Steve watched as Tony rolled up his sleeves and explained the tech.

With a little planning, Tony was strong. With some time to prepare, Tony was deadly. Being Iron Man was never about being enhanced or perfectly trained, it was about being ready for anything. Tony Stark was a force to be reckoned with.

Their pride might have taken a hit, but his teammates would be just fine. Tony grinned as he led the way to the elevator. This time he had brought his advantage into the ring, and _damn_ had it felt good.


End file.
